


To The End Of the Night

by Smilla



Category: Without a Trace
Genre: 2006, AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:30:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smilla/pseuds/Smilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny leaves the FBI to become a lawyer but he soon discovers that not everything can be left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The End Of the Night

TO THE END OF THE NIGHT

The first weeks are the hardest, Danny realizing soon enough that not having a solid, respectable, and well known name beside his makes all the difference.

Somehow the plate he hangs beside the entry door of his office with his name on it followed by "Attorney at Law" looks… cheap.

He still feels the uncertainty of his choice, the day he crossed the big glass door of the Federal Building for the last time, forever etched in his mind.

Jack, mournful and resigned, Samantha, surprised and in denial, hint of guilt - that Danny had no problems absolving - in the way she embraced him, Vivian, knowing and worried in her unique way.

And Martin, who hugged him hard, arm fastened in a wise-like grip behind Danny's neck, not caring that the others were watching.

_Fuck, this isn't a goodbye_, Martin had said, such strength in his whispered words that Danny could only believe him, and the only reply he'd been able to give had been a broken, _no, no, it isn't_.

His steps had faltered while leaving, and Danny had asked himself - honestly asked himself for the first time - if what he was doing was right and fair. A meaningless question because there was no turning back tied to its answer.

 

::::::::::::

 

When he has a plan outlined in his mind Danny comes to the ineluctable conclusion that he'll likely make less money out of this than what he thought at first. He's likely to not make money out of it at all, if he is really honest with himself.

But Danny isn't in it for the money, so he revises his budget and uses part of the money he has saved during his years at the FBI for rent and furniture. In the end his office looks efficient enough to give a sense of professionalism, despite his location in a secondary street and despite being squeezed in between a club and a car repair.

No silence during the day, no silence at night, the few times – two, so far - Danny has needed to work the late hours.

In the end he decides he doesn't care, the sense of accomplishment he feels for having made it overshadowing everything else. Even the sadness that accompanied his leaving the FBI fades, and Danny puts on a mask of confidence that slowly replaces for real the uncertainty he feels.

Danny knows that mostly it's due to the fact that the two people he was going to miss most have stayed in his life.

Vivian, who calls him regularly – to check on him, Danny knows – and they have managed to meet for lunch on many occasions, Danny easily bending his schedule to accommodate Vivian's busier one.

And Martin, who makes good on his promise, unannounced and unexpected, the day Danny needs a friend, and a strong pair of arms, the most. Coffee in hand, clothed in jeans and a t-shirt whose original red colour shows only near the collar.

Danny doesn't question how Martin knew the exact date and hour his office's furniture was going to be delivered – although he guesses Vivian has something to do with it - but he takes pride in Martin's detective skills, because he figure he's helped to hone them.

When he tells Martin just that, Martin lightly punches him on his arm and replies he's become a good agent _despite_ Danny's influence.

They spar and talk, sweat under the hot sun of a hot August afternoon, and at the end of the day, body weary and awake in places Danny didn't know existed, they drink more coffee, Danny happy, really happy, seeing the pride he feels reflected in Martin's eyes.

From that first time, Martin doesn't leave Danny alone, whether it's sharing a sandwich for a fast lunch or lending an ear when Danny needs to vent about the cost of a two rooms studio, or about Dora, the owner of the club, and the not-so-subtle way she has hit on Danny right from the first time they met.

Dora ends becoming the subject of a phone conversation late one night, and the sound of Martin's laugh is clear and crisp when Danny feigns freaking out at the memory of Dora whispering sexily in his ear that Danny would be welcome at her club, hand dropping suspiciously near his ass.

Danny likes hearing Martin's laughter so much that he repeats the tale, forcing small details to hear it again and again, loves the way Martin's voice breaks when he laughs; Danny isn't so caught in the moment that he doesn't realize that they are acting and talking like they used to do, pulling each other strings, the mocking words and light banter that had easily replaced the initial hostility. Danny can picture how Martin's face looks, can see the laughing lines around his mouth that he's seen so many times before.

Only, Danny doesn't think _before_ exists anymore; he knows what he sees when he looks hard into Martin eyes, a different depth that wasn't there _before_. A darkness Danny is intimately acquainted with, having seen it each morning reflected back at him in the mirror.

Shadows that weren't in Martin eyes, before; and one night, one night Martin had been so enveloped in them that Danny had gone near as to welcome them with a drink of gin, stopped only by a moment of clarity and by the possibly too self-centred realization that he was the only chance Martin had.

But now, Martin is laughing hard and Danny does not hesitate to tell the tale of Dora in a new way just to prolong the moment.

 

:::::::::::::::

 

The following Friday evening, Martin shows up at his office, wearing casual clothes and an easy smile, he forces Danny to leave alone the thick procedure book Danny is buried in _lighten up! We deserve some fun!_, he says, deaf to Danny's protest that he's not dressed right for a night out and he helps him shutting down the office for the weekend.

Danny is puzzled at first, and then secretly pleased when Martin leads him just down the two flights of stairs on street level, then turns left in the direction of the club.

He introduces Martin to Dora, and Martin unconsciously moves closer to Danny, when Dora watches them with a knowing look, Danny smirks, and only the acute awareness Danny has with regard to everything that is Martin, lets him see the faint colour in Martin's cheeks .

They pass the night drinking soda and listening to Dora's rough voice telling tales of her many men and of the pain, still raw and fresh, of the loss of her only love.

Dora kisses them when they leave, a soft kiss and her hand rises in a caress like she can't help herself, a motherly touch that makes Danny feel an ass.

After that night, Dora stops hitting on him.

 

:::::::::::::

 

By the time the first month of his new adventure is drawing to an end, Danny has started working out a routine and made a name for himself.

He ends up getting the reputation of being a Good Samaritan when he accepts as client a young boy accused of petty theft, and refuses to be paid by his mother. The woman shows her gratitude by bringing him cakes and tortillas and broadcasting his good deed to all the people in his neighbourhood.

By the end of the week, everybody knows what a great guy Danny is. She'd probably be surprised if she knew that it hadn't been his skill as lawyer that had helped her son, but a little trip they did to a youth correctional centre.

Other good side effects come from it, though, and from then on the list of clients – usually barely owning the clothes they wear – becomes endless.

Danny doesn't mind that he gets paid with presents: offers for little repairs at his apartment, ugly customizations for his car and his bike that he accepts graciously and, of course, homemade food he shares with Martin.

Exactly like he had foreseen, money is involved only marginally in it, but Danny doesn't care because he isn't in it for the money.

He finds himself repeating the same out loud to Martin one day when he touches the matter, no heat behind the words Martin uses to rebuke him for working for free, and Danny is sure he detects a new awareness of him in Martin's eyes, like he's pleased with what he sees, like he's perceiving something about Danny only now.

Danny, for his part, doesn't know what to do with the new relationship he has with Martin, a grey zone which blurs between friendship and something he fears naming. Sometime he's almost sure that they're moving into something different, the way Martin seems to lean in his touches, imperceptible shift of his body Danny sees only in the corner of his eye, the holding of his breath, like he's hovering on the edge of a new territory.

Martin always closes off, though, and Danny is left with the distinct impression that he's imagining everything like he's done in the last five years.

He realizes he's zoned out when Martin shakes him lightly, only to focus his eyes on Martin fingers stroking softly his expensive shirt, _you won't buy this stuff with tortillas_, Martin is saying, but Danny can feel only Martin's touch, light as it is, the ghost of heat that bleeds into his skin, Martin stroking his shirt between thumb and forefinger, where the cloth folds just above his wrist.

The moment borders on the awkwardness that he's always felt whenever he's touched Martin and Martin's stopped to notice, in the few occasions Martin has initiated the contact.

Danny freezes fixing Martin's hand and is unable to unlock his eyes from Martin's bony fingers to met Martin's look, he searches for some half-assed remark but the words are stuck in his throat.

Until Martin coughs, voice rough, words hesitant, and the moment is behind them no matter how hard Danny would like to live it again.

They end planning to meet the following week, Danny finally giving into Martin's offer for help straightening his finances.

The hours that separate Danny from the next Friday become impossibly long.

 

:::::::::

 

Martin shows at his apartment with a calculator and a stack of paper, he hijacks Danny's kitchen table and soon he's engrossed in the hard task of stretching Danny's meagre finances. He emerges of his numbers-induced trance only to ask for coffee – which Danny dutifully supplies – or to ask questions to which Danny, more often than not, replies with a shrug.

And really, Danny shouldn't be surprised, he's worked with Martin for five years and he knows how solving problems tends to catch all of his attention, still, he can't help but feel childishly disappointed after having built up his expectations for an entire week.

While Martin writes, with anal precision, numbers in columns and blocks, separating them with straight lines he draws in red, Danny kills time looking at Martin, at the play of light in his hair, the way his biceps flex while writing.

He likes what he sees, he's stopped lying at himself a long time ago, accepted his attraction to Martin like something that is natural and unavoidable, but what he likes most is having Martin so comfortably at ease at his place, likes the intimacy of what they are doing, how Martin let his jacket slide naturally on the back of his couch, heading straight for the counter to take a cup and fill it with coffee.

It's more than he's ever hoped for, anyway; Martin had never been in his apartment in all the time they'd worked together, but he's been here almost each week in the last two months. Like Danny leaving the team unlocked a door, opened new possibilities, made Martin more relaxed and simplified their relationship.

Or maybe, it's made it more complicated.

They rarely talk about Martin's job anymore – and Danny is surprised not to feel even the slight hint of regret for thinking of his one-time job like something that is now only Martin's – Danny still asks the occasional question about how Jack or Samantha are doing, but Martin has put an end to each case-related question, avoiding direct replies or changing effortlessly the course of their conversation.

Sometime, Martin has shadows in his eyes and Danny knows they are related to some very hard case he's working; on those occasions, Danny damns the way the job has always sucked Martin in, and sometime he has to stop himself telling Martin that he'd be better without it.

He knows that the chances of Martin leaving the FBI are near to zero, but hates how the job still affects him after so many years, Martin never quite able to shake others people's pain at the end of the day.

When those moments happen, Danny makes sure to force the banter, teasing and coaxing smiles out of Martin; after, he always feels rewarded at the gratitude in Martin's eyes.

Martin's voice shakes him out of his thoughts, ashamed for having been caught staring for a second time, maybe revealing too much in the way he was looking, deciding not to care when Martin self-consciously averts his eyes.

The smell of something burning saves them from another awkward moment, and Danny jerks to life, only partially registering the sound of Martin's laugh, too caught in the effort of saving their supper.

Smoke invades the small kitchen when Danny opens the oven and Danny coughs it out, hands flying wildly in the air, he sees Martin opening the window and feels almost immediately the drift of cool air; still, Martin's laugh is infectious and wipes away Danny's disappointment over the loss of so much hard work.

In the end, though, Danny doesn't mind that their supper consists of pizza.

 

::::::::::

 

The first big case happens to Danny almost by chance, and Danny is soon nose deep involved in it. Discovering, or maybe re-discovering, a new love for the law, the creativity involved in it that's drawn him toward it right from the start.

For the first time he feels again the rush of adrenaline, and when he's called to his first bail hearings, he decides that he likes this job, talking in public coming natural to him, knowing he's good at it and liking the way words fall out of his mouth, poses and dramatic effect to emphasize relevant points. He leaves the courtroom victorious and high for it.

Reality crashes after, when he's presented with the hard, and sometime boring work that precedes a big trial, soon almost every flat surface in his office is covered in yellow legal paper full of the notes he's taken, and Danny didn't think writing could be so tiring, wrist aching from it.

The outside world takes a step back for almost a week, Danny oblivious to the loud rumours of life, lost in the planning strategies.

The truck that arrives each Friday to refill Dora's stock of liquors brings him up short with the realization that it is indeed Friday and he's not heard from Martin for four days. Danny tries to remember the exact time he'd spoken to Martin last, checks and rechecks his emails only to find spam and not a trace of Martin's name among them. Danny tries to battle the disappointment he feels stinging, because, really, it's not a written rule that Martin has to spend each Friday with him, no matter that in the last two months, that is exactly what has happened.

And he had thought it counted for something, it had to, if Martin decided to spend most of his free time with Danny, but maybe Danny was wrong again in rising his expectations so high for a handful of get-togethers which in the end could only mean nothing.

Or maybe he's too tired to see clearly and he's been indoors for too much time. Suddenly, his office seems too small, walls suffocating, and Danny stands up, closes the windows and in less than two minutes is outside, breathing the illusion of fresh air.

He walks swiftly toward the small park at the end of the street, late October sun still warm on his back, the chill he feels having nothing to do with the approach of winter. Maybe he should start to be worried, he should call Martin, make sure everything is okay. He goes as far as to take his cell out of his pocket, touching with is fingers the numbers he knows by memory.

It's his pride that wins, and Danny doesn't stop at the park, deciding instead to walk home.

 

::::::::::

 

The sun is casting long shadows outside, and Danny has been seated on his couch with no will or energy to do anything but play with his cell and be angry, at himself, at Martin, most of all, for the power he has over Danny's moods.

The knock on the door is too loud, and when he opens it, Martin is standing there, smear of blood on his white shirt, hair wild and a look of fear, mixed with the aftereffects of an adrenaline rush, in eyes gone dark.

_It's Friday_, Martin says, but Danny doesn't feel elation at those words, no, he can see himself, instead, distinctly as if he's actually doing it, shutting the door on Martin's face, rejecting the pain he feels like a physical blow, the danger Martin represents to his sanity and to what he's worked hard to avoid being, for so long.

It strikes him, when he makes space for Martin to enter his apartment, that he's kidded himself in the last months: leaving the FBI, pursuing something he's stubbornly called a dream, lying to himself over and over again, convincing himself he only wanted to run away, foolish as it was, from a world where he risks losing Martin each and every day.

While he tentatively lays his hand on Martin's shoulder, Danny feels the weight of failure crushing him, and he's finally able to see crystal clear, as if for the first time, that what he's tried to save himself from is not the pain of losing Martin, for which he's always known there is no remedy, but the pain of seeing it happening before his eyes and not having the power to stop it.

The pain of confronting, once again, his uselessness.

Right from the first time, when the stark reality of Martin's mortality had covered his hands in scarlet blood, and later, when seeing Martin's pain had felt like his own pain, felt it worse for the lack of visible signs on his own body, he always tried to save himself from failing, again and again.

Tried to save himself from his life going into a circle, with each and every person he's ever loved.

It comes as a surprise that self-preservation has governed his life for so much time. That his greatest failure has always been his fear of failing.

Danny lets his hands travel along Martin's arm toward his hand, feels Martin's hand shaking in his own, skin cool and humid, at odds with the flush on Martin's cheeks.

And he's almost sure discovering something like that should have paralyzed him with its enormity, not made everything look clearer and sharper, the wrong reasons why he's always wished he could, but never acted on what he's wanted, content to play the role of best friend, retreating to a corner, always watching and wishing. Lulling himself with the illusion of safety.

The determination he's always lacked to take things a step further with Martin is suddenly there, and leading Martin toward his bedroom is almost too easy, Martin's agreement expressed when he squeezes Danny's hand back, knuckles whitening with the force of it.

Taking off Martin's shirt is even easier, the first touch like a bolt of energy that inflames Danny's senses. Danny feels Martin exhaling when he lightly kisses him right over his heart his mouth seeking the patch of smoother skin he knows is there, and Danny wishes it were the only trace left of that night so long ago.

The journey down lasts eons for Danny, Martin's scent so intoxicating that his hands are shaking by the time he unfastens Martin's pants.

Martin hands, which were resting on his shoulders until now, drop boneless beside him and Danny braces himself on his wrists.

The first taste of Martin's erection feels to Danny like water on a very hot day, the pleasure he feels shouldn't be so familiar, the taste of it, shape and weight, rough hair and soft, thin skin.

A sigh, like a prayer, while he fully takes Martin's cock in his mouth.

Danny works it slowly from base to top and back again, savouring it all, focused on Martin's silent reactions to learn what he likes, and, when he feels it swelling, Danny increases the pace, rolls his tongue around Martin's cock and can't keep back a soft groan when he tastes Martin's seed for the first time.

When the tremors in Martin's body subside, Danny looks up at Martin who is watching him but, hard as he tries, he cannot name what he reads in his eyes; with a deft move, Martin takes Danny's wrists in his hands, an encouraging pull and he is standing just in front of Martin, still clothed, absorbing the heat that rises in waves off Martin's naked flesh.

It's Martin who closes the narrow gap between them, and his kiss is tentative at first, his mouth soft and warm, and Danny feels himself falling deeper and deeper.

The bright, star-like spot he sees behind his eyelids when Danny squeezes his eyes shut are the light-years he's needed – both Martin and he have needed – to reach their destination, curves and detours, the false trails they have followed making the journey feels longer. Time constricts and expands, sucks Danny in it, and Martin with him.

After, when all is quiet and Danny dares to open his eyes again, the world has stilled on a reality that almost makes Danny's heart burst with joy.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> To aesc, for your attention to details and for making me believe in this story, thank you. To Neko for the basic plot.


End file.
